


Late Night at The Gull

by indigo_illusion



Series: A Vampire Novel and a Positive Attitude (or The Exceptional Crook & Cow Girl Wench) [7]
Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, Fluff, The Gull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 00:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12569320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_illusion/pseuds/indigo_illusion
Summary: Duke is up late at night doing some experimental cooking when someone tries to break in.Set at the beginning of Season 2.





	Late Night at The Gull

**Author's Note:**

> Again some things which make it AU. Duke's history with Julia. Duke's history with Evi (not actually married) but still had a relationship; and given I don't think I've actually mentioned it in things before, fully, the Duke I write about has a Hispanic mother, and his father has Romani heritage (though still Simon Crocker, of course). That becomes relevant given something Audrey says.

Rice is not going to be cooked for another twenty minutes at least and then it needs to soak up the rest of the moisture and cool but I can slice fish and other things in the mean time.

_What was that noise?_

I adjust my grip on the knife and quietly walk up front of the kitchen towards the sound which came from the back door. Who would be dumb enough to try and rob this place?

And that's when I find myself almost face to muzzle with Audrey's gun while she almost gets a kitchen knife thrown in her face.

“Audrey?” “Duke!”

“I thought you were breaking in!” “I thought someone was robbing the place!”

“I almost hit you with a knife--” “I could have shot you!”

I lean back against the wall, “Isn't that slightly against regulations?” I hold up two fingers in a pinch.

“You _have_ a knife,” she holsters her gun, “What are you doing here at--” she looks at her phone, “two thirty six a.m?”

“I own the place. What are _you_ doing _up_ at two thirty six a.m clearly roaming the streets with your gun?”

She sighs, “I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk and it's Haven—I'm not going to be unarmed.”

I give a side nod conceding that point given even when I don't have a kitchen knife I have at least one knife if not a gun within easy reach. I start to back towards the kitchen given raw fish on counter and she follows.

“Just because you own the place doesn't entirely answer why you're here this late-early in the day-night.”

“Trying out menu ideas while the kitchen's quiet,” I tell her.

“Uh-huh,” she says.

“You do see the food before you in pieces currently not constructed,” I wave the knife in a line indicating the counter with the chopping board with fish pieces, and the other with veggies and fruit.

“Yes,” she says, “and I also see the shot glass over there,” she points near the _Hobart_ where the glass and the bottle of whiskey both are.

“That is because you are observant,” I tell her, checking the consistency of the rice and then putting the sliced fish, covered, back in the fridge for the time being, along with a separate stash for the fruit and veg.

“Your 'wife' has you wound up?” she asks.

“If you're going there I'm within rights to point out your midnight rovings and the yes/no FBI woman from earlier today who I _know_ told her boss she lost the woman who stole her identity but yet _hasn't_ left town.”

Audrey sighs, “She's going to.”

“She booked a week at your B&B.”

“How--?” she starts.

“She's FBI, Audrey. I make it my business to observe her goings on.”

She sighs again, “Would you mind if I observed my way to getting my own glass?” she nods towards the _Hobart._

“Knock yourself out,” I point out where they are, as if she doesn't know, and open the whiskey bottle, readying it before adding a little bit of sugar to the rice.

Audrey returns and I pour her the shot. After she drinks it down, pulling a face, and then looking embarrassed as I take my own shot she says, “One of us has the other's memories and...I think _she's_ the real Audrey.”

“Audrey--you're a real person.”

“Am I?”

“Come on...” I can't really think of much else to say there because how could she—but then look where you live, Crocker, seriously, look where you live, “You're more real than Nathan--”

“ _Not_ funny, Duke,” she picks up the rice paddle and mimes to hit me with it, “Seriously,” she says, “how would you feel if someone showed up and they had all the same memories as you?”

“Fuw--” I point out, “Poor them—but no, before you hit me again that _would_ be weird.”

“And she has an Agent Howard. You saw Howard when he came to the boat, right?”

“How could I forget?” not only were we hijacked but we were hijacked _while_ she was talking to her boss in _my_ state room. That's not something that goes lightly into the mist.

“Well, this guy was as white as u—as me.”

“Nice save,” I toast her another shot I've poured, “I get the feeling there's something else that tips you towards thinking that you and not she are the—I'm _not_ going to say fake Audrey because you're not...”

“What if I _am_?”

“For the sake of my rice paddle let's not start that again,” I tell her moving it, “what else is going on? Is this something to do with the cupcakes? You told me this much.”

“Yes,” she says, “and you've told _me nothing_. It's your turn, Crocker. Julia's pretty sure the wife thing isn't a _thing_ but she, Evi, not Julia had you _pretty_ irritated,” she points at me with her glass.

“Do I have to cut you off already?” I ask her, “You're acting all crazy-like.”

“Don't change the subject.”

I sigh, “I am not nor have I ever been married to _anyone_ let alone Evidence Ryan,” I tell her, toasting with a shot glass again, “You cannot tie this gypsy down,” at least _that_ way it seems, “We _did_ pretend to be married two...maybe three times while doing cons but no actual vows or paperwork written, said or signed.”

“But you _were_ together?” she presses.

I nod, “Yes,” unfortunately, “My longest—only, really, actual proper relationship as it goes,” I snort, considering the consistency.

She looks at me curiously.

“Three years,” I clarify, reluctantly, “on and off,” I amend, because yeah, “Maybe that's why she's on the married thing, considering compared to anything else I've done...I think the most repeats I've had is...” I have to run through a few things, and I see the expression that gets on Audrey's face, “...three and that's not exactly consecutive, and that's not counting the standing arrangement with the Russian.”

“You--” Audrey pauses, “Do I... _want_ to—the Russian? You have a...and you call her “The Russian”?”

“You met her, sort of, right before the Farmer's Market when everything started rotting, and that's not a relationship it's an arrangement it's more...business.”

“You're disgusting sometimes,” she says, pouring another shot.

I pull the rice off the heat and put it in the walk-in, stirring it carefully on the way, “It's an arrangement that relieves tension. You should try it. I'm sure she knows some nice young men, unless you _wanted_...” I give her a look.

She puts up a hand, “No. No to all of that.”

Good. I'm sure I can get things back off me now and on to her, “So, can you explain to me the rest of your issue?” I ask her.

She leans back against the counter, setting down the glass and running a hand over her face, “Well, of course, you know about Lucy Ripley.”

I just give her a look.

“I said 'of course'!” she retorts, “and I've...” she leans forward now, bending her head towards her knees and then back up shaking herself out.

I move so that we're side by side and give her a nudge, “It's okay.”

She shakes her head, “I keep running through it and when I told Nathan it sounded crazy enough but then it has to be the explanation but at the same time _how?_ But this is here and there are weird things, but then...just...”

“Just...?”

“I don't think that Lucy Ripley is actually my mother...”

“Okay...”

“I think I might have _been_ Lucy Ripley.”

I let out a whistle and lean back against the counter myself. Lucy was about when I was a _kid_ how could that? No wonder she's being weirded out. There has to be some reason she's on this line of thought.

“Duke?” she asks, hesitant.

“Just processing,” I tell her, “Considering when I knew Lucy and everything...”

She nods, pouring herself another shot but then not drinking it, “That's why I'm all _how_?” she points out, “but even before this other Audrey showed up I was starting to wonder all this mess with Garrick and this scar on my foot...and things people have said, like at the...my birthday trip,” she finishes reluctantly. Ah, yes Death Island, “and I mean how many people look _exactly_ like their mothers, well, except for the hair? You're a genetic combination of your parents _not_ a clone.”

I give her a sideways hug, and she turns it into a front ways one, “I really, really can't give you any answers to that and I'm sorry.”

“That's okay,” she mumbles, “It's not like you haven't tried to help already with the photo and everything.”

I snort, “Well, look how that turned out.”

She gives a slight laugh, pulling back from the hug, and tearing a strip from the nearby paper towel on the hanging holder to wipe her eyes, “That guy was _super_ crazy. Maybe whatever erased yours and Vanessa's memories broke his brain a bit. You're lucky you're not going on about clacking lobster things and stripping your clothes off--”

“I seem to recall someone making me strip in public.”

“Don't knock it when it worked and you very much did not get shot,” she points at me with the crumpled up towel.

“Fine. Fine,” I tell her as I go towards the walk-in for the rice, “bring up how alive I am. Win the argument.”  


End file.
